Mother Hen
by The Irish Lass
Summary: Jody Mills has seen some real doting mothers in her time. But none of them could even begin to compare to Dean Winchester, Badass King. In which Jody speculates on the little things Dean does for Sam. Basically, my therapy for the latest seasons. Pure fluff.


Mother Hen

Jody Mills has seen some real mother hens in her time.

Mothers who think their babies can do no wrong, that their kid is the smartest and cutest of them all. Mothers who turn a blind eye to the bad in their children, and those who rooted it out. Mothers who packed lunches, and mothers who washed clothes.

And she gets it. You have a kid of your own, it's hard not to get it. It's amazing how annoying you think people are before you find out that you're one of them. She certainly had thought her son's-

Anyway.

This did not change the fact that Dean Freaking Winchester was the biggest, most smothering, mother hen Jody Mills had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Sure, he talked big, stomped loud, and growled low. But he was really, when it came to Sam, just a big teddy bear.

For starters, there was Sam's nickname: Sammy. Jody didn't even pretend to think for a moment that anyone but Dean was allowed to call Sam that. Not even Bobby Singer was given access to this ultimate privilege. Sam was Sammy only to one.

Further, Sam's diet was carefully regulated. It didn't seem like it, but Sam was never in need of either vegetables or protein. There was of course Sam's own tendency to eat healthy, but Jody knew someone had to instill the desire for healthy food in the over grown man. And all for Dean's adoration of burgers, when it was his turn to pick up dinner, the meal was always well balanced.

Then there were the clothes. Not so much the laundry, Sam was in charge of that after Dean somehow shrunk an entire load and dyed it pink. No, it was in how the clothes fit Sam as well as possible, in how they were the best quality available. Sam was not one to invest in good clothing, probably figuring that it would get torn up no matter what he did. But he somehow always had practical, comfortable clothing. It wasn't always attractive (she shuddered to think of one particular yellow and green plaid.), but always cared for.

There were coffee runs and donuts, new laptop chargers (Sam had a horrible habit of leaving them in motels) and a fully stocked medical kit.

Most of all, it was in the way Sam responded to Dean. He was always hopeful, forever repentant of his old ways, calm and comfortable. He obviously felt he could his brother almost anything, from a new case to missing Jess.

Jess was almost a mystery to all but Dean. Jody finally managed to get the hunter to tell her that Jess had been Sam's old girlfriend. Sam had been shopping for engagement rings a week before her death. Hell, he had a tiny box with the simple diamond ring burrowed in his duffle, wrapped in his hoodie. Jess, Dean explained, was Sam's reason to fight. The fact that Dean knew this, that he knew what to do in these cases, spoke volumes.

But most of all, it was the hovering. Oh God, the hovering. It would drive Jody nuts. Sam didn't seem to notice. But Dean was almost always there, glancing over at his brother, a long one second sweep every few minutes, like Sam could have suddenly sprung a massive bleed while sitting beside him. It was in taking the bed closer to the door so that whatever nasty might be fool enough to take on the Winchester would have to go through Dean first. It was the note from the past, hidden in a baseboard. It was the worrying over every cough, the way he smiled.

It was in the boasting. Get Dean Winchester drunk, and he'd go on and on about his kid brother's achievements, from the hotty watching his every move in the bar the night before, to the full ride to Stanford. The way only Sammy could do research, the many times Sammy had saved his hide, the way he could hack a computer.

But to Jody, it was all in the little things. The new socks, the mysteriously appearing Lovecraft books, the way the fridge in the Bunker always held yogurt and apples, which she knew Dean didn't eat. It was in the new bedspread that had appeared on Sam's bed after he mentioned the bunker was drafty. It was in the glasses of water when Sam got wrapped up in his research and forgot to take care of himself. It was the utter joy that entered Dean's eyes when Sam thanked him, when Sam asked for help with something.

Oh yes, Jody thought with a small smile as Dean put a plate of food ("Eat up, little brother. You won't find the answer if you die of starvation."), the great Dean Winchester, Vessel of Michael, the Monster under the bed of monsters, and self-proclaimed badass king, was definitely a mother hen.

Dean's gaze switched from Sam, who dug into his sandwich as if he hadn't eaten in days, to Jody. He smiled at her, content with his life and his brother's need for him.

~W~

Hiya, hiya.

Yeah, it sucks. But hey, I don't get paid.

Reviews are awesome. Seriously. They make me happy.

'Til next time!

-The Irish Lass


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